The Sound of White
by Rogue Cnidarian
Summary: Sometimes you think you’re going to get another chance. Turns out, fate has a cruel sense of humour. DanielJanet; AU; angst.


**Rating/warnings, etc:** R? It's mostly PG-13 with a tiny bit of non-explicit adultness. Spoilers for _2010_ and episode abandon-all-denial-here. ~1700 words.  
**Summary:** Sometimes you think you're going to get another chance. Turns out, fate has a cruel sense of humour.  
**Disclaimer:** Stargate? Not mine.

**A/N:** I began something for **medie**'s "Because We're Awesome" Drabble-a-thon, but then I did this instead. It's been partly written down on paper for 2 months now, since I was in the back of beyond with no internet. Yey for romping around India with mild-smut in your notebook! Originally prompted by **grav_ity** and her request in the **danjanficathon** for 2010...adultness.  
Unbetaed I'm afraid. (Cole, I'm home tomorrow! Wheee!)

xxxxxxxx

_And if I listen to the sound of white / Sometimes I hear your smile and breathe your light._

xxx

He isn't surprised that Jack's not there, but it's a jolt when Janet – standing close enough to touch for the first time in too long – calmly states that she nearly didn't come herself.

She surprises him again, later, after the pride and the fall, after they learn the horrible truth and make a rebellious plan under the noses of their Aschen waiters. She appears on his doorstep and he silently lets her in despite his uncertainty. It's not that he's never opened his door to her in the middle of the night, or even found himself knocking on hers, it's just that it's been a long time since they've been that close. And things are different now.

The Aschen Alliance changed a lot of things, starting with their jobs and ending with the total withdrawal of Jack O'Neill. Somewhere in between came the news that Janet had met a professional photographer from Oregon. Sam had told him – that had stung – and he'd tried to appear happy for them. He didn't voice the desperate regret at how far apart they'd grown. How he should have tried harder to keep in touch, made more time to return missed calls, asked to meet up occasionally for coffee… When she had had to move away to keep working as a doctor, he'd felt it would be selfish to complain, but his silence had cost him more than he'd been prepared for. He wishes he'd told her.

It's ironic, he thinks, that now she's finally right in front of him, he's not at all sure what to say. It's been a long day. And tomorrow they're going to save the world. With the rush of adrenaline comes a sense of familiarity that is somehow comforting. He suspects it's this familiarity that has brought her to his door now.

He tries to start, tries to remember how it goes.

"Coffee?" he asks, softly.

She smiles and the familiarity returns, the comforting feeling intensifying. He didn't realise how much he had come to rely on her steady presence until she was gone.

He gestures towards the kitchen. She's never been inside this house before but she finds the mugs without his help. He thinks about what that means. He watches her as she takes a sip and closes her eyes.

He kissed her once, years ago, when she was tired and uncharacteristically angry. Her anger had been a result of SGs 5 and 1 becoming addicted to a Goa'uld pleasure device. Weeks of worrying on top of losing all of SG-5 in her infirmary, plus effectively throwing him, flat-lining, through the 'gate and hoping he'd be ok… He should have known better than to corner her about it. But he'd been tired too and he hadn't stopped to think, and then she was shouting at him and then he was kissing her and, for a while, she was kissing him back, fiercely.

She pushes away from the counter, the movement dragging him from his memories. She still hasn't said anything. He wonders if there _is_ anything to say. Tomorrow the world as they know it will end or change or _something_ - Sam doesn't seem entirely clear on the details – and none of this will matter. He wants to know why she's here instead of at home where there's someone waiting for her, but if she doesn't want to think about that then he's not going to remind her.

She wanders into his living room, still clutching her coffee, and starts studying his vast collection of things: artefacts, books, photos, masks, scrolls – "clutter" Jack used to call it. He feels he owes her this, this chance to scrutinise the contents of his life. He wasn't brave enough to offer it before. Her hair is longer, her eyes more tired, and it strikes him that maybe this chance to reset everything isn't such a bad thing for either of them.

He smiles humourlessly to himself. Only he would be so blasé about dying. That's how it's going to end, he is positive. But not for her. She's going to Chulak and she is going to live. The determination is so strong that it catches him by surprise and he has to consciously un-clench his teeth.

She's wearing worn jeans and a soft top – comfortable clothes that simultaneously remind him how beautiful she is and how severe he is, still dressed in his smart Aschen garb. He's tempted to stand closer to her, so instead he clears his throat.

"I'm going to go change, if you're ok here. Help yourself to more coffee and I'll be right back."

She turns to him, tilting her head to the side slightly, then nods. He hopes she doesn't think he's running away because he's not. Not really. He just needs a few minutes to regroup, otherwise he's going to touch her and that's a line he cannot cross anymore. Not outside of a formal ceremony situation, anyway.

He re-adjusts the glasses that he doesn't really need anymore and backsteps out of the room. On the stairs he takes a deep breath and feels a little better.

He's standing in the shower, eyes closed under the pounding spray, when he hears the click of the door. He swipes at his eyes, unable to do much more than stare as Janet shuts the door behind her. They both stand looking at each other for a long moment, then she bites her lip and reaches for the button on her jeans. He watches through the transparent shower door, frozen, as she peels off her top and kicks out of the denim. He's fairly sure his mouth is hanging open. When all her clothes are on the floor she carefully opens the door and slips in next to him. He makes room, barely noticing when he knocks a shampoo bottle over. With difficulty, he keeps his eyes above shoulder level, trying to be a gentleman. _Gentleman? She's just got into the shower with you!_ As if his body needs reminding. Proximity is causing some potentially embarrassing reactions.

His eyes find hers. They are wide and luminous, her expression a mix of determination, desire and uncertainty.

"Janet…" His voice has a discernible waver. She shakes her head and reaches out to cup some water in her hand. "What about—" he tries again.

"We're not—He's—" She stops and blows out a breath. "We're looking for different things, I think." She laughs, bitterly. "God, I never thought I'd be using lame relationship clichés…"

She stares at his chest and he permits himself to study her collarbone.

"We never talk anymore," she whispers and he's not sure who she's talking about.

Then she tilts her head up and leans close. Every muscle in his body tenses. He concentrates on breathing as she kisses along his jaw. He knows he should stop this, but his treacherous mind reminds him that tomorrow, if all goes to plan, everything will be undone.

"Stop thinking," she commands and she takes his hand and fits it to the curve of her hip. He doesn't, because he wants to remember this. He finds it cruel that he'll forget when it's undone too.

He gives in, lets go. Kissing her neck, her shoulder, he tries to memorize the taste of her wet skin. He wants to take it and physically imprint it permanently in his mind. This urge drives him to pull her to him, get as close to her as he can. He pushes the strands of hair away from her face as her lips find his.

Then it's all smooth skin and lips and tongues and thighs and hands…her skin against his lips, against hers, against his tongue, between her thighs, her hand around him, blinding him… until there's nothing but her gasps in his ear, urging him on.

It's only later, as he's falling asleep curled around her, that he realises he's still not told her. Explained why he kept his distance, and how much he wished he hadn't. _In the morning_, he thinks as he drifts off.

xxx

After thirteen years with the Stargate Project, he's sure he shouldn't be finding it so hard to get up early. Maybe he's getting old.

He swipes at the alarm clock. There's an odd residual feeling, a sort of memory, like finding stiffness in your limbs and then remembering the previous day's activities. Except he didn't do anything unusual yesterday and he can't begin to guess what the feeling relates to. He tries to shrug it off.

On his way out the door, he catches his sleeve on the handle and that reflexively makes him drop his wallet. Some items come loose and skitter across the floor. One goes further than the rest, forcing him to reach under the table.

A small square, a photograph of Cassie. He smiles, but instantly feels it fall off his face. Cassie? No. But something has tweaked the feeling from before. He wracks his brain for important dates, but comes up empty. It frustrates him, but he can't spend any more time on it now, he's already going to be late.

Later on, in a lull, his thoughts return to Cassie. He's not seen her since last Christmas. No matter what she's doing, where in the world she's working, she always tries to make it 'home' for Christmas. He loves it, loves that this will always be her home, loves that he, along with Sam and Jack and Teal'c, will always be her family, even when Teal'c is rarely on Earth anymore, even when the four of them are scattered. And it's an instilled tradition for her too – Christmas was always an important date on the Fraiser calendar. Janet made sure of it.

There! Janet. The niggle centers like a divining rod. He frowns, puzzled. Why now, after all this time? It's been six years. What memory had his mind dug out in his sleep? He misses her still, much less intensely than he used to, but his thoughts rarely turn to her these days. Not specifically. Not like this. It's almost— He stops himself, feeling ridiculous and more than a little guilty. It's almost like the feeling he gets when suddenly confronted with a strong memory of Sha're.

Which can't be right. They were friends, good friends, but nothing more than that.  
And he only kissed her once.

xxxxx

Fin  
A/N: Title and line are from Missy Higgins' song and album of the same name.


End file.
